My Grandfather Was A WHAT? !
by Lucillia
Summary: Harry rather complicates his life and unwittingly gets revenge on his relatives when he sends out a letter addressed to "A Blood Relative Who Isn't Petunia or Dudley" and a former follower of Grindelwald who'd just gotten out of prison and was looking for a place to stay receives it.
1. Chapter 1: Family History

There is a joke that goes something like this: Sometime around 1960 or so, a Drill Sergeant was going down the line asking the new recruits if their fathers had served, and if so, where. Eventually, he reached a young man who mentioned that his father had been at Normandy. The Drill Sergeant then asked what unit the man's father had served in, and the young man turned bright red and replied "The German army".

Once upon a time, in the waning years of the 19th Century, there was a young man named Robert Evans who went out to seek his fortune. The first place he'd sought the fame and riches he dreamed would one day be his was London, where he completely failed to find either. He did however find an opportunity to head to the Continent and seek his ever elusive fortune elsewhere. Eventually, after one century ended and another began and Robert still had nothing to show for his quest, he stopped searching for fame and riches and instead settled down in a place he could call home. When the Archduke Ferdinand was shot and war broke out, Robert didn't have the money to get his family back to England so he stayed because he would not leave a single one of them behind. In 1921, following a heart-attack, the man who had been in his mid-fifties left a widow and several children whose ages ranged from six months to ten years behind in a small town East of Berlin.

Some seventy-three years had passed since that date. In the intervening years, most of the Evans family had made it back to England, but none of them before 1945 when their Fatherland had become a sinking ship, and they fleeing rats who'd used their half-English heritage to their advantage. The older man with the blue-green eyes and graying red hair that had become more gray than red in recent years who was striding away from a German prison with a bus ticket and some money in his pocket had not been one of them. This had been Hans Albrecht Evans' third stay in prison since the war. He had always promised to keep his nose clean, and always found himself right back in for another decade or so again after failing to find legitimate work and resorting to crime to get by. He could've easily escaped the prisons he found himself in whenever he wanted to, but to go where? His family - what little of it was left in Germany - had no desire to see him, and had made that fact quite clear long ago. He wasn't welcome in what had been his world from the age of eleven either. Grindelwald's followers never were these days.

As he strode towards the bus-stop, trying to plan out his next move in a world where he was wandering aimlessly adrift, a beautiful white owl flew up to him and imperiously extended its leg. Having not received a letter in such a manner since they'd taken his wand from him at the end of the war, and not having anyone who would write to him anyways, he wondered why it could possibly be there. As he stood wondering, the glorious bird which was beginning to symbolize the magic that had, in his mind, been his birthright despite his origins continued to hold its leg out to him despite its obviously increasing impatience.

Almost hesitantly, he took the envelope that was tied to the bird's leg. Rather than having his name on it as he'd half hoped/expected it would, he'd found the letter addressed to "A blood relative who isn't Petunia or Dudley" in English. Simultaneously frowning and chuckling at the manner in which the letter had been addressed, he opened the envelope, pulled out the missive inside, and began to read.

Five minutes later, Hans Evans had something he hadn't had since Grindelwald had been defeated in 1945, a goal.

He was going to England.

**Edited 7-18-15.**


	2. Chapter 2: No Place Quite Like Home

It had been as Harry had been lying across his bed in his minuscule room reflecting on the fact that he had family he did not know about in the form of a Godfather who was on the lam that the idea had come to him. His parents and his Aunt obvioulsy hadn't sprung from the aether fully-formed, so what of his other family? Where were they, and why hadn't he seen or heard from any of them? He'd seen a great deal of relatives who may have been real or imaginary in the Mirror of Erised back during his First year, so he knew that they or at least someone who filled similar roles as the mirages he'd seen in the mirror had to have existed. What had become of them? What of his grandparents' siblings? What of their children, and their children's children who should be his age?

After grabbing a quill, some ink, and a bit of parchment before he could start doubting and second-guessing himself, he had written a letter to one of his theoretical relatives listing who he was, who his parents were, and the names of his deceased Maternal grandparents, seeing as he didn't know what his Paternal grandparents had been named (Something he'd have to ask Sirius about later). Once the letter was finished, he addressed it, tied it to Hedwig, and rather impulsively asked her to seek out a close relative from his mother's side of the family first before looking for his father's side. He didn't exactly know why he'd done that, other than to maybe prove to himself that they couldn't all be like Aunt Petunia and that spoiled lump that was rather unfortunately his cousin.

Several days passed. Days which had started off with anticipation and excitement which steadily shaded towards disappointment as Harry began to despair of Hedwig ever finding a living relative of his and returning with a reply. Nobody had come to claim him before then, and, considering how many times his relatives had stated that they had wanted to get rid of him, there had to be a good reason for why that was.

Eventually, when he was beginning to give up hope of ever seeing Hedwig again before the Summer ended, there was a knock at the door.

* * *

When he had somewhere to be and something to do, Hans Evans had found it surprisingly easy to get his hands on a wand and get out of Germany. He'd fully expected the German Ministry to come calling with extreme prejudice after he'd nicked a wand from some ratlike tourist he'd run into in a pub, but considering the fact that it had been chaos after the War, he hadn't been all that highly ranked, and it had been the Americans who'd taken his wand and thrown him into prison the first time, it was entirely possible that he'd been entirely forgotten about. Some of the Grindelwalden had slipped back into their lives since with few being any the wiser after-all.

As he made his way to Little Whinging, going the Muggle way since he couldn't afford to be arrested by Wizards - especially with a stolen wand in his possession - he wondered what his niece's son would be like. Based on the letter, the boy sounded very much like his youngest brother, a simple, mostly kind-hearted, but brave boy. His youngest brother who had been everyone's favorite since he was the baby of the family had been lost to him like all the rest long ago, and he seriously regretted the terms under which he and his siblings had parted.

He was one of two magicals amongst his siblings, his older sister being the other. All of their other siblings had ranged from being somewhat leery of their magic to being exceedingly jealous and somewhat spiteful of them for it, especially when they heard his sister's stories about Beauxbatons and how wonderful it was compared to the village schools they were forced to attend. Despite this hostility, he had been on speaking terms with the rest of the family until he'd accidentally let slip that his leader's goals and those of the Fuhrer didn't coincide. Finding out that their brother had A) bullshitted his way into a better position in Grindelwald's army than any other muggleborn would've gotten by pretending that he was related to a nearly extinct British wizarding family named Evans and unrelated to his blonde sister who'd never made a secret of the fact that she was Muggleborn and B) joined an evil wizard who was planning to wrest the Reich away from them the minute Hitler succeeded had rather soured relations between him and the family.

Pulling himself out of memories that were best left forgotten, Hans started focusing on the here and now. After a great deal of wandering about a neighborhood that made him long for prison, which wasn't anywhere near as rigidly uniform as this place, he finally found Privet Drive and made his way up it to a house which was making a great deal of effort to not stand out from the rest. He had ended up hesitating at the door for a moment, wavering over whether or not he should knock considering the fact that his family had told him to stay away, and eventually deciding to knock since he'd come all this way and the least he could do would be to greet his brother's magical grandchild who'd reached out.

After a wait that seemed eternal due to his apprehension, the door was answered by a blonde woman who looked just enough like an Evans that he could tell she was related, though he did wonder exactly what his brother had married in order to produce a child who looked that much like a horse. The woman's eyes widened comically upon catching sight of him. He had some idea as to why though, seeing as, aside from the fact that his eyes were blue-green rather than emerald green, he nearly looked like his younger brother's twin.

The woman's mouth opened and closed several times, yet no sound came out. "Wh-who...?" the woman eventually managed in a squeaky voice.

"You would be Petunia then?" he said, knowing full well that she was, since she couldn't be anyone else.

"I'm Petunia." the woman said, now on firmer ground.

"And, I'm your uncle Hans." he said, getting straight to the point and giving her his most disarming smile, using his first name like the English would, rather going by his middle name due to how common the name Hans was. Almost everyone in and around Germany who was named Hans went by their middle name.

"I don't have an uncle Hans." Petunia said, her expression becoming hostile.

"I guess I was a subject that was too painful for my brother to bring up." he said sadly and almost wistfully, wishing that had been the case, rather than the fact that his family was too angry with him to even mention him. "Considering what we'd been through, I would be very surprised if he said very much about his past."

Based on the woman's expression, she was likely imagining something far more heroic and a great deal more tragic than the truth. Giving him a very sad look that he was certain was meant to impress him with its sympathy since it was obviously lacking sincerity, the woman stepped aside and allowed him into the house where his brother's magical grandson lived. As she led him into the sitting-room, she rather nervously offered him something to drink. After accepting her generous offer, he watched her disappear to the kitchen before turning towards the stairs where instincts that hadn't completely vanished over the last forty-nine years had told him that someone was trying to hide.

Looking up into the shadows, he caught sight of a small dark-haired figure that was swamped in clothing which was little more than rags. The figure, upon noticing that he'd been noticed, rapidly shot back down the upstairs hallway from whence it came. A moment later, his niece appeared with a small tray that had two cool drinks on it in deference to the Summer heat. While she'd been gone, he had taken the time to explore the sitting-room that she had led him to. He was still standing, looking at the knick-knacks that graced the fireplace shelves when she'd arrived, and he'd taken the drink which had been proffered.

"Where have you been all this time, and why haven't I heard of you before?" his niece asked, cutting straight to the chase rather than trying to make small talk with a relative she'd never even heard of before he'd shown up on her porch several minutes earlier. That was the Evans way however, and he decided to take the fact that she wasn't treating him like an outsider as a good sign despite the fact that he wasn't entirely certain he wanted it to be, considering what he'd seen of this woman's character on the trip from the porch to the sitting-room. What people kept, and didn't keep said more about them than their words, and this woman was...twisted.

After a moment during which he pretended to have a hard time finding a place to sit order to gather his thoughts and mentally compose what he was going to say.

"The family and I had a falling out long ago, and I stayed in Germany when most of the others left. I lost track of your father after our former schoolteacher whom your father was rather fond of told me he had moved to London." he said as soon as he was seated with a drink in hand. "I always thought it was funny, him moving to London like that, seeing as he'd bombed it."

Based on his niece's thunderstruck expression, she obviously hadn't known. Oh well.

**Edited 7-18-15.**


	3. Chapter 3: My Grandfather Was a WHAT?

Hans Albrecht Evans couldn't suppress the uprising of satisfaction he'd felt when he'd heard his niece's glass hit the carpeted floor of the sitting-room with enough force to shatter it. He knew he should've been playing nice in the vague hope of getting free room and board from a relative who would support him in his old age considering the fact that he was out of money, but something about this woman who was playing the stereotypical English Hausfrau had bothered him from the word go, even before he had been let inside the woman's home which revealed more about her heart than it concealed. Perhaps, it had been something about the wording of the Harry boy's letter. The boy who dressed in rags and didn't feature in a single one of the photographs that decorated his niece's tastefully decorated home.

"Black!" Petunia snarled almost ferally. "I don't know what you're playing at you freak, but this prank has gone on long enough!"

That threw him for a loop for a moment as he tried to figure out who this "Black" was. It had taken him a moment to place it as a surname, an exceedingly familiar surname. The surname of a man who had more than earned his medals, up to and including the Order of Merlin First Class that he had fortunately not been there to witness him earn, since if he had been, he would be dead.

"Black? Oh yes, Dark family, heavily into the Dark Arts. Grindelwald had tried to recruit them but, as you know, Evil doesn't necessarily equate to unpatriotic." he replied in a tone he was certain would further rile the woman, a flash of anger of his own having risen at the word "freak" even though it hadn't specifically been directed at him. He knew it just as easily could have, considering the state of the magical child who was nearly not such any-longer that was living in the home.

"Stop playing games Black or I will call the police and have them throw you back in prison!" his niece shouted angrily, though there was a slightly fearful quaver in her voice.

"Call your police. I will wait patiently on the pavement outside until they arrive. Since I have served my time and committed no crimes since I have arrived in this country, there is nothing they can arrest me for, much less throw me back into prison for." he said coldly as he stood up, set his drink on an end table next to the chair in which he'd previously seated himself, and moved towards the door. "I am not this Black of whom you speak, and my telling you something that was clearly unpleasant to you about my brother doesn't make me so, nor does it make this a prank despite the fact that it amused me to drop that little bomb onto your well-ordered English lie. I will tell you here and now that my mother and my siblings did not treat me nearly as unpleasantly as you treat your nephew when it was discovered I was magical."

The look Petunia gave him as he made his way out the door was pure venom. He did sit himself on the pavement in front of his niece's home as soon as he was outside, but it was more to spite the girl than to wait for the arrival of a Constable that he seriously doubted she would call, seeing as making a scene like that would just bring unwanted attention to her. Attention that might not go away very quickly considering how boring this neighborhood looked, and how bored its inhabitants must be simply by living here. Spiting his niece wasn't the only reason he'd seated himself where he had however. Seeing as he wasn't very familiar with this neighborhood where every house and every street looked just like the rest, it was a good a place as any to wait for his other niece's son to make his excuses, leave the house, and perhaps lead him to a place where they could talk.

A few minutes after he sat himself down and politely nodded to a pair of curious onlookers who were pretending they weren't gawping, a shadow fell across him. Looking up, he found himself looking into his brother's eyes set in someone else's face.

"Are you really...?" his brother's grandson asked.

"If I were not related, that beautiful white bird of yours would not have handed me your letter." he replied to the boy who was still standing over him.

"Was my grandfather really a...a...?" the boy asked, not able to bring himself to say it aloud.

"He was in the Luftwaffe, serving his country the way many English served theirs. Our father may have been English, but we were born in Germany, and our mother was German. Being patriotic, it is only natural that my brothers answered the call when they were told the Fatherland needed them." he replied, giving his brother's grandson the kindest answer possible in regards to that matter. There had been a time when his family had believed, had gone to the rallies and so forth. They may have changed their minds about how they felt about what had been done in those days, what they had done. They may have even regretted their part in it all, but that didn't change what they had been.

"And what about you?" the boy asked, frowning as a thought had suddenly occurred to him.

"Being magical, I found myself being recruited by and following a greater leader than the Fuhrer." he replied.

"Greater...but Grindelwald..." the boy said, trying to process the answer he'd been given. He could easily guess that the next words that would've followed if the boy hadn't shut his mouth and started giving him a guarded look would've been "was evil".

He decided to put the boy straight.

"Great does not mean the same thing as Good. Grindelwald could lead entire armies, but there are few even amongst his own ranks who would call him a good man. Nobody is purely evil however, just as nobody is purely good. Do not fall into the trap of believing so, or one of the 'Good' people you know might surprise you one day by sticking a knife into your unguarded back." he said to the boy, wondering if he was warning the child about himself considering the fact that his intentions for coming hadn't entirely been pure. Not murderous, or evil mind you, but not entirely pure either. There had been some hopes of convincing the member of his brother's family who'd been searching for long-lost relatives to allow him to stay, and mooching off the family for an indefinite period of time which had been rather thoroughly dashed when he'd gotten a bead on his niece's character, and pegged her at "sour magic-hating bitch".

Yes, his hopes of mooching off of the relatives who hadn't bothered trying to get in touch until now had been thoroughly dashed. It wasn't like his brother's grandson had the money or a place to put him up "until he got back on his feet".

The boy who'd been staring at him and frowning as he tried to process what he'd said to him sat down next to him. Based on the distance separating them, it was clear that the boy didn't entirely trust him, but was willing to sit down next to him.

"So, aside from the whole...You know. What was my grandfather like?" the boy finally asked after another minute or so of tense silence.

"He was very brave for one..." he started as a police car pulled up much to his surprise and a Constable got out. The man looked at his brother's grandson in suspicion.

"If this is another Dursley call...At least five calls a month from the neighborhood kids stating that the Dursleys are abusing their nephew...You'd think they'd have grown tired of that old prank years ago." the Constable muttered darkly.

"I received a report of a disturbance in the area." the Constable said when he reached the pavement on which he and his brother's grandson were seated, still eying the boy suspiciously.

"That was a misunderstanding." he said, wondering at the actual history behind the Constable's earlier comments. "I decided to reply in person to a letter my brother's grandson who was looking for relatives sent to my hometown in Germany, and ran afoul of my niece after I gave her some information she was not happy with. She was quite loud, and for some strange reason had convinced herself that I was a member of the Black family in disguise. How she became acquainted with the Blacks, considering the fact that she isn't the sort of company they keep, I do not know."

"Sirius Black's my Godfather." the boy who was eyeing the Constable as if he were a zoo animal that had somehow ended up on a passenger train mumbled so low that it was possible that the Constable hadn't heard him.

"I see..." said the Constable who was looking slightly discomfited, possibly because of all of the heads that had started popping up from behind bushes and fences and behind windows the moment he'd arrived.

There was an ever-increasing crowd that grew by the minute, and all of their attention was turned toward the trio on the pavement. The looks on the faces of the housewives that the heads belonged to were almost...predatory.

"Well, I can't exactly order you to go back to Germany, but I can advise you to avoid such 'misunderstandings' in the future, since another call to this location will result in your arrest for disturbing the peace. Good day." the Constable said before turning and practically fleeing back to his car.

"A Constable. An actual Police Constable." his brother's grandson breathed as his eyes tracked the car's progress up the street. "I haven't seen an actual Constable in Little Whinging in...I can't remember when."

**Edited 7-18-15.**


	4. Chapter 4: 4 Privet Drive

The house watched as the man departed. Technically, the house hadn't watched, the wards surrounding the house had watched. Well, if you want to get even more technical, the protective wards surrounding the house didn't so much watch Hans Albrecht Evans leave, as register his deprarture.

The thing about wards, especially wards as complex as the protective wards that surrounded the Dursley family home, was that they had to be discriminating. They had to be able to tell friend from foe, otherwise they might either let everyone in, or keep everyone out. The wards that surrounded #4 Privet Drive had to be nearly as discriminating as the wards surrounding either the Ministry of Magic or St. Mungo's due to the fact that Muggles lived and worked in the area that they covered. Because of this, they had to be somewhat intelligent. They did not think like humans did however. Their range of "thought", which was more like calculation, was limited by the parameters that they were given when they were set, and they had just been given a problem which fell within the purview of the parameters that had been put in place when they had been set.

As Hans Evans left the neighborhood in search of affordable digs, the wards which had kept #4 Privet Drive invisible to the eyes and the minds of the police after they had calculated that the police would remove all of the members of the family they had been created to protect from the home permanently were recalculating in the face of the problem that the man who was leaving presented them. The man was of Lily Potter's blood, and therefore fell under the purview of their protection, which meant that they had to protect him. They could not protect him however, because there was no place for him in the Dursleys' home for him to stay. The Master bedroom belonged to Petunia and her mate, one bedroom belonged to Petunia's son, one bedroom and the cupboard under the stairs belonged to Harry, and the final bedroom belonged to Petunia's mate's sibling. There was no place set aside for the man whom the wards were meant to protect. There was an extraneous member of the household who was not of Lily's blood that the wards were forced to protect since he lived there at Petunia's behest however, and getting rid of him meant getting rid of his sibling, which would free up a room for the man the wards were supposed to be protecting...

The solution in the "mind" of the wards that surrounded #4 Privet Drive and all of Little Whinging to a lesser extent was simple. They would have to rid themselves of the excess members of the Dursley family in order to make room for the man whom they were supposed to be protecting. In order to do that, they would have to allow the police who were stationed in Greater Whinging back into Little Whinging for more than the occasional sweep to rid the town of rifraff who might pose a threat to the family they had been created to protect. The only problem would be in finding a way to have the police remove Vernon Dursley from the home, and only Vernon Dursley, but the wards were certain that they would find a solution to that problem by day's end.

Little did the wards know of the chaos they would create...

* * *

After a short conversation that had taken place in the park which Harry had led his great-uncle to which ended when Dudley had arrived, forcing him to say goodbye to the man before Dudley noticed them and started harassing them, Harry sadly watched as his great-uncle whom he'd gotten to see for all of ten minutes departed. He'd given the man directions to the Leaky Cauldron, and loaned him a bit of money so he could stay for a while, but he didn't know what he could do for the man on a more permanent basis. It wasn't like he could bring the man to school with him...

Unless...

No, that wouldn't work. And considering the fact that over the last several years, over half of them died horrifically, suggesting that would be like murdering his great-uncle himself...

He slumped as he realized that this was probably one of the last times he would be able to see his great-uncle for a very long time, since the man would be forced to return to Germany in order to live. As his great-uncle was about to finally disappear from his view and probably his life, a flash of memory burned its way across his mind. As he paused and backtracked on the memory of one of Hermione's more strident rants on how Muggleborns were treated in the Wizarding world which had, at the time, gone in one ear and out the other, he smiled.

"Uncle!" he called, the word coming far more easily than it had ever done in reference to Vernon Dursley.

Hans Evans paused, and then turned to look at him. "Yes?" he asked.

"I think I know how I can keep you in the country and get you a place to stay, but it's going to be a bit..." Harry started as he raced towards the man.

"How?" his great-uncle asked.

"Are you a muggleborn, and if so, are all of your ancestors for the previous four generations Muggles?" Harry asked.

"As far as I know." Herr Evans replied.

This both was and wasn't excellent. Harry tried to let none of his nervousness show as he stood there trying to figure out what to do next. First of all, he didn't know how to get to the Ministry in order to check and see if the law was on the books, and second of all, he didn't know exactly how to explain his plan to his great-uncle without insulting him, much less how to convince the man to register him as his pet. It was, after-all, the quickest and easiest way to get past the Wizarding world's often ludicrous immigration process, and it would allow him to bring the man to school with him and arrange for "accommodations suitable for his species" once he filled out Forms 8D-4r7-Pet-Species-Limitation-Waiver, and 2B-1f2-Pet-Extra and mailed them in along with the appropriate processing and accommodation fees.

Thank God for Ron and Hermione. He wouldn't know what to do without them. Poor Ron had to fill out the six-foot long Form 8D-4r7-Pet-Species-Limitation-Waiver every year. Ron's rat turning out to be a man did explain why it had cost so much for him to be allowed to bring him to Hogwarts however. Though the fact that the expense was 15 Sickles rather than the usual 2 or 3 made him wonder exactly how much the school actually spent on food for the students...

* * *

Hans Frowned as he watched the reaction people in the Leaky Cauldron had to Harry the instant they stepped inside following a nausea inducing ride on the "Knight Bus". The instant his brother's grandson had stepped foot into the pub which served as the entranceway to the main wizarding shopping district in Britain, the boy was mobbed by people seeking his attention and/or a bit of his time. Something about the way they had said "Harry Potter" sparked a vague memory, but he couldn't place it. That's what he got for having almost completely lost touch with the Wizarding world practically since the end of the two concurrent wars which had taken place roughly within the years between 1938 and 1945.

Being in this place, amongst his kind, he constantly found himself wanting to tug on his sleeve to make sure the tattoo he'd gotten during the wild, heady days of his youth was still hidden. While the Muggles he had served time with hadn't bothered him over it since they didn't recognize it, in a place where everyone knew what that mark was and what it meant, and knew what the regimental mark under it pegged him as...

Eventually, his brother's grandson - who apparently hadn't noticed that he had paused at the door afraid to go any further - waded his way through the crowd and made his way to the bar which was being tended by a toothless old man who smiled happily in greeting. After speaking with the man and making a small purchase with money he was frankly surprised the boy who'd floated him a loan and paid his bus fare had, the boy made his way back to him.

"I got us rooms for the night." the boy who seemed to be growing more and more nervous around him as time passed said. "We're going to the Ministry tomorrow, if you want to that is."

"That's fine." he said, covering over a nervousness of his own. The last time he'd attempted to enter the British Ministry of Magic was as a member of a strike team which had been repelled by the strong wards which had been placed around the underground building. Since people tended to add to wards rather than remove parts of them, it was possible that he would be turfed out of the Ministry almost before he even arrived. If those wards were still set to repel those of his ilk, things could get very awkward indeed.

* * *

"Ten...Eight...Six...Four..." said the Constable who was counting houses along Privet Drive to show the little vandal he'd caught who claimed to live at #4 Privet Drive that there was no #4 Privet Drive, and that he'd have to do better than that to pull the wool over his eyes. Upon counting "Four", he came to a screeching halt and then hit reverse. He looked again in case his eyes were deceiving him. They weren't however. There it was, in shiny brass on the door, polished and gleaming in the light of the setting sun. A number Four. Going forward, he spotted #2. Going backward past the house not caring that people were staring at him and his odd behavior, he spotted #6 immediately after the anomaly which refused to disappear. The anomaly that was #4 Privet Drive.

"Holy...!" he exclaimed.


End file.
